Yeah Boy & Doll Face

The next morning, I was Hungover. Capital H. Bound to feel the aftermath of that night for a week. At least.
When consciousness was within my grasp, I opened my eyes narrowly, squinting up at the ceiling with one hell of a headache building like a tsunami in the back of my brain: my mouth was dry and bitter, and my thoughts were dim and radio fuzzy, but from what I could remember of last night was pretty fucking insane.
It didn't take us long to get absolutely wasted.

Rubbing a hand over my face, I sighed and made a gradual attempt at pushing myself onto my elbows to scout my surroundings. I was in a hotel room (which wasn’t too odd, considering none of us were probably in a fit state to be on the streets, forget behind a wheel), and though I was unsure precisely where I was or how I got there, something else demanded my immediate attention: there was a girl in my bed.

A small bubble of panic broke through my eleven am hangover as I noticed the would-be pristine pillowcase under her dark mop of hair was stained alarmingly red.
“Oh, shit,” I murmured scrambling completely upright and pulling back the sheets. Judging by her gear, she was likely to have been at the party last night. Her tiny leather shorts, tights and tank top were still on, and so were my jeans, so I continued in the hopes nothing x-rated had happened.

My shirt was on the floor, lying besides my shoes, both of which I pulled on hastily; her bag was on the other side of the bed, still zipped up. I touched her arm tentatively, feeling her slight warmth, and shook her gently: nothing.
I tried again, starting to feel desperate by now - random hotel room with an injured strange girl in my bed and no recollection of the night before. Didn’t exactly sound good, did it?

Mike’s car keys were in my pocket with my apartment keys, and my phone was in the other. Nothing was missing, so minimal damages were incurred on my behalf. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the girl.
I put her bag over my shoulder and disentangled her from the sheets, carefully taking her weight by pulling an arm around my shoulder.
Lifting her from the bed, I made my way out the door and to the elevator, leaving the hotel’s main reception as quickly as I could. There weren’t many people around, and those that were there didn’t pay us much attention.

The car was parked on the eastside and I hurried to it, wincing at the bright sun in my face. Getting her into the passenger seat wasn’t as hard as I expected, and I shut the door firmly before getting into the driver’s seat. Turning to glance at her quickly, I felt a jab of guilt: her hair was matted at the back of her head where she had hurt it, and the blood had trickled down her right cheek and dried there. Eyeliner was blurred around her eyelids in black smears that made her face look pale and small, her lips were dry and stained a faded rosebud colour from yesterday’s lipstick, and her arms and legs were starting to get goosebumps.
It was hard to tell whether she was pretty or not under all the dirt, but she was evidently young.

I reached onto the back seat and picked up a hoody I had forgotten there last week - after a small moment of hesitance, I leaned across her seat and slipped it onto her shoulders and tucked it around her. Then I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot before anyone could begin sending us weird looks; as I did so, a few blocks’ drive down, I realised we weren’t more than a mile from the club.
If I hadn't been worried about someone bleeding out all over Mike’s car, it would have been of some comfort to know that, if I had been stupid enough to drive drunk, I hadn’t gone too far.

All I needed to do now, though, was get her to the hospital and checked out. My mind was buzzing as I drove, trying to recall her name from my memory - it was almost certain I didn’t know her, so she had to be a friend of Mike, Jaime or Tony - one that I hadn’t met.
That conclusion in itself was unlikely (the four of us spent the majority of our time rehearsing or hanging out together) unless one of the boys was seeing her.
Jaime had a steady girlfriend, and there was no way he’d cheat, Tony had just started seeing someone new and Mike was single and unattached of recent (and awfully damn proud of it, too).

I gave up the train of thought as we reached the entrance of San Diego’s St. Mary’s hospital and instead focussed on parking the car and getting her inside.
Having accomplished that, all we needed was medical attention.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said, putting on the politest tone I could manage for the nurse at the check-in desk, “I need your help.” The middle-aged redhead woman barely moved.

“What seems to be the problem, sir?” she drawled, shewing obnoxiously loudly on her gum. I glanced around the disinfectant-scented room for someone who didn’t sound like a fap-slapping human blender: no dice.

“I need someone to check the, uh, lady here - I think she might have hurt her head at a party we were at last night.” I continued, raising my voice to redirect her attention in my direction.

“Her head?” The woman looked up sharply, gum-chewing becoming a ferocious frenzy. “Is she conscious?”

I faltered for a second and stood there, supporting her limp frame. The nurse ploughed into action, moving out from behind the desk and calling for a wheelchair swiftly. Another nurse hurried down the corridor, ushering other patients out of the way as she pushed the wheelchair over to us: I lowered her into it slowly and carefully, making sure her arm didn’t get twisted or her neck flop all rag-dollish the wrong way.
The two nurses jolsted me out of the ay and hurtled off down the corridor again, leaving me feeling a little lost and a lot confused.

The other people were paying me no attention, and I was kind of glad - my temporary invisibility gave me the chance to catch my breath and recover. Letting my body collapse onto one of the chairs in the waiting room, I realised I still had her bag, and plonked it down onto my lap.
Someone would probably be back to ask me her name a details, and better me than a stranger go through her belongings - I mean, I was a stranger, but...wasn’t she my (albeit, involuntary) responsibility? I ‘found’ her, sort of.

Unzipping the bag, I pulled out the first thing that came to hand: a small black purse, with an ID card slotted inside. It looked legit, and according to it, the girl’s name was Yamin Fakhri, she was 24 years of age and an American citizen. The small picture insert showed me a pretty, serious face with a bone structure and colouring that wasn’t entirely caucasian.
I studied it for a second more, before returning it to its place and shutting the bag again.

A I did, the readhead human blender approached me, and I tried to look sincere, instead of like I had just invaded someone’s privacy.

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to fill in a few forms.” she said authoritatively, giving me a look that said ‘stand up and follow me’.
Uh oh.
“As her relative-”

“Oh, we’re not related.” I corrected automatically.

“You’re not related?” she repeated in an ‘excuse you’ kind of tone. Busted. “I’m afraid we can’t let you wait here unless you’re a partner or relative - see, we have a limited space for short term patients, so…”

“That’s what I meant!” My mouth was saying words before I could think them. “What I meant was, I’m her boyfriend!”

God, you complete moron.

“Right,” she replied slowly - I don’t think she was convinced, “so if you’ll fill in these forms, starting with ehr name…?”

Being nosey has its’ perks; I took the pen and form she handed me over the desk and scrawled in the girl’s name and age into the boxes. She seemed less suspicious, if not completely satisfied, as I tried to work my way through the form. All I needed to know was that she was OK - if I was sure of that, there was no need for form-filling or ill-fated news - just do my job and leave.
I had gotten her the medical attention she needed, and if she was OK, I was guilt (and responsibility) free again.

“Uhm, sorry, but she will be fine, won’t she?” I inquired timidly. The human blender gave an almighty squelch of gum between her molars and eyed me coldly.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the doctor’s feedback, sonny. In the meantime, why not try to recall how she hurt that pretty little head of hers, huh?”

“What?” I mumbled, bewildered.

“Accidents don’t happen everyday.” she said. I stared at her blankly before it struck me - she probably thought I was some kind of woman-beater.
Bitch.

I scowled right back at her and opened my mouth to reply when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and checked who it was: Mike.
Turning away from her, I answered it, hoping he knew more about this story than I did.

“Hey,” I said, shrugging her bag onto my shoulder.

“Vicky, baby,” he replied, “where are you, man?”

“Uhh…” I looked around, wondering how to explain. “Listen, Mike.”

“Yep.”

“What happened last night?”

“We were at your party, man,” he said in a dopey voice, “did you forget?”

“No,” I sighed in exasperation, “I mean, like...did I leave with someone?”

“Shit, Vic, you, HOOKED UP!” he hollered down the line. “How hot was she?”

“Would you shut up and listen? I’m in the hospital.” I snapped. There followed a long pause on his behalf.

“Oh.” he said eventually. “Wait, are you OK?”

“Urgh, yeah, I’m fine. Other than the fact I woke up in a hotel room next to some chick I’ve never seen in my life. She hit her head or something, and I couldn’t wake her up, so the doctor’s checking her over.” I muttered.

“Oh,” he repeated. “Do you want me to come down? Only, you took my car keys last night.”

“Yeah, why do I have your car?” I said, remembering I didn’t recall how that happened either.

“Tone pulled, so Hime and me went home with Matt and Casey. I think you needed my car ‘cause you said you were giving a friend a lift.” he explained.

“A friend? She’s not a friend I’ve ever met.” I mused. “Alright, I gotta go. Nurse wants to talk to me.”

“Ohh, kinky,” he chortled.

“Oh, trust me. It’s not.” I replied, grimacing as I watched her squelch her gum.